


the boy who stole the sun

by embraidery



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Cinderella (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Dreamy Forest Meetings, First Love, Hand Kisses, M/M, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 02:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embraidery/pseuds/embraidery
Summary: Caspian sneaks out of Uncle Miraz's house to attend a tournament, hoping to reconnect with the prince he met years ago.





	the boy who stole the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/gifts).

> The requests I was given showed a love of fairy tales, mythology, and Casmund, so here we are. It has been quite an experiment balancing the tone of fairy tales with the way I usually write my fanfictions, since neither style alone would accomplish all the things I wanted to accomplish with this! I hope you like it. 
> 
> As it says on the tin, it's a Cinderella story. Expect parental death and stylised nastiness from Miraz & stepsons.

Once upon a time there lived a boy named Caspian. He lived with his father in a little village in the land of Narnia, not too far from Cair Paravel, and he was very happy. His father was a successful merchant who traveled all over the world. Sometimes Caspian would come along on these journeys and marvel at the beautiful sights in Calormen, Archenland, and the other nations in their world. On these journeys and at home, Caspian’s father taught him how to fight with a sword. Caspian loved his father’s set of armour and sword. They shone like the sun emblazoned on the chest of the breastplate and the base of the sword. Caspian thought his dad could take over the whole world in that armour, and Caspian would be at his side.

The only dark spot in their world was Caspian’s uncle Miraz. Caspian only knew that Miraz was a terrible dinner companion. He did not know that Miraz schemed to take over Caspian’s father’s business. He did not know that when his father died, painfully slowly, that the sickness was due to Miraz’s poison.

Caspian’s father was buried in the town’s cemetery under a beautiful weeping willow. Caspian went there often to sit and think. He wasn’t the sort to speak out loud to the grave, though sometimes he wished he was. Sometimes he went to his father’s grave and showed his father the progress he was making with his sword. He had no one to practice with, so he read books on the art and practiced by himself. He could have used his father’s beautiful sword, but he didn’t want Miraz to know about it; the sword was extremely valuable. He kept it hidden away in the garden shed, where Miraz never went, and used his little practice sword instead.

Miraz moved into Caspian’s father’s house to look after the business and his orphaned nephew. He left Caspian alone for the first few years. While he was a nasty, scheming man, he had no particular reason to be cruel to Caspian. That all changed when Miraz got married. His new wife, Prunaprismia, was a widow with two sons. They were terrible to Caspian. Spoiled and lazy, they made Caspian do all the work around the house. He had done all the work when it was just Miraz and himself, but now there was much more to be done: more fires to be lit, more dishes to be washed, more laundry to be scrubbed. He didn’t have many clothes, since Miraz hated to buy him any, so he did laundry often. Laundry became an excuse to leave the house for as long as possible. Caspian would practice dueling with the stick he used to beat the dirt out of the clothes. 

On one of these occasions, after he’d spread the laundry over some bushes to dry, he went for a walk in the woods. He had friends out in these woods: the talking mice, squirrels, and other animals. He stopped at a little pool for a drink, cupping the silvery water in his hands. It was beautifully refreshing, just the sort of thing he wanted after washing countless linen shirts. When he stood up from the stream, dripping with water, he noticed a teenager about his age on the other side of the stream. It took him a moment to recognise him as Prince Edmund. The royal family sometimes had portraits painted of the princes and princesses, and a local artist had sketched the official portraits so all the villagers could see. The sketch was pretty accurate as far as Caspian was concerned. It captured Edmund’s sharp cheekbones and dusting of freckles. It didn’t catch the light in his eyes, though, the way he seemed more alive than anyone Caspian had ever met.

By all rights Caspian ought to have been awed by the presence of royalty. But something about the situation, something about the forest, put the two boys on equal footing. They stared at each other, much like a dumb beast and a human, equally surprised to encounter the other. Neither broke the stillness for a long moment. 

The prince performed the old-fashioned Narnian greeting between equals by crossing his hands across his chest and bowing slightly. Caspian had only ever seen it done by older people and children poking fun at older people, but he did it in return.

“I’m Edmund.”

“Caspian.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

The weather was delightfully warm and soft that day. They splashed through the creek on the way to a place Caspian knew where the creek tumbled off a rockfall into a beautifully clear, deep pool. They stripped down to their underthings and dove in. Caspian floated on his back, watching the clouds float by, while Edmund dove down to the bottom of the pool. 

Later, they surfaced to lay on the soft green grass ringing the banks of the pool.

“Lovely day,” said Edmund.

“It is.” 

Caspian lolled his head to the side to look at his new friend. Then he propped himself up on one elbow to observe Edmund’s softly muscled form, the freckles dotting his shoulders, his long calloused fingers. Edmund rolled up onto one elbow to mirror Caspian’s own posture. 

“Look, I’ve found a pearl,” Edmund said. He held out a fist and uncurled it to reveal a smooth creamy pearl with an otherworldly multicoloured sheen. 

Caspian gently picked up the pearl and held it close to his eyes. “It’s wonderful!” he breathed. He looked over at Edmund, whose gaze was fixed upon Caspian’s face. His lips, Caspian thought. “Where did you find this treasure?”

Edmund shrugged, one-shouldered. “Just on the bottom of the pool. Something must have eaten the oyster.”  
Caspian nodded. He looked down at the pearl again, then back up at Edmund. He held out the pearl, but Edmund shook his head.

“You can keep it,” he said.

Caspian closed his hand around the pearl and brought it to his chest. “I thank you.”

They lay back down on the grass and talked. Some time later Caspian was surprised to discover that they had moved close enough together that their hands brushed. He lay still, his heart pounding so loudly he could almost hear it. He watched the birds flutter among the trees far above.

“I should go back to the pal--er, my home,” Edmund said eventually. He took Caspian’s hand and brushed a kiss over it as lightly as a butterfly. Their eyes met, grey to brown.

“I hope to meet you again,” Caspian said softly.

“As do I.” Edmund stood up and got dressed. He looked back at Caspian one last time before disappearing into the forest. The spell broken, Caspian knew he would never see Edmund again. It was too much, even to hope for.

After that dream of an afternoon, many of Caspian’s days lost their sparkle. There had always been days of drudgery, of course, but he’d found joy practicing his fencing or walking alongside the creek. Now the forest seemed empty without the prince. Caspian had a jeweler thread the pearl onto a thong so he could keep that day close to his skin. Over time, however, that afternoon slipped softly away from Caspian’s immediate memories. He passed his days tolerably -- at least the ones where he spent as little time as possible at home. Eventually the fun of tormenting Caspian began to wane for Prunaprismia’s sons, and life settled into a comfortable rhythm for the next few years.

That was when they received the letter.

It was hand-delivered by a messenger wearing cloth of gold. The envelope itself was no less ornate. It announced that Prince Edmund would be pleased to host a tournament for any Narnians who wished to attend. There would be a variety of events culminating in opportunities to duel other participants and even Prince Edmund himself. Prunaprismia’s sons hardly knew how to fight, but they, of course, wanted to attend anyway. They made Miraz buy them priceless swords.

Caspian couldn’t decide whether he should ask to go or not. He would go either way, of course. Before he decided, however, the younger brother said in a voice meant to carry, “It’s too bad he can’t go, with no armour and only that pathetic little thing he calls a sword.”

“Imagine being him and thinking you’re worthy of breathing the same air as the prince,” the older brother sneered.

Caspian gritted his teeth and kept his eyes on the silverware he was polishing. That decided it. 

It wasn’t going to be easy. He would have to figure out how to carry the armour part of the way before changing into it, since he couldn’t be seen leaving the house in it. He would have to leave the tournament early enough to get home on foot before Miraz and his stepsons got home in their carriage. But it would be worth it.

That evening, Caspian went to visit his old tutor Cornelius. He explained about the tournament and its difficulties.

“You can borrow my horse, my boy,” Cornelius said, “but he is but a poor man’s horse. Take him to the witch of the woods. She may be able to disguise him for a time.”

So Caspian did. Though he had often passed by her cabin, he had never visited the witch of the woods before. She never seemed to be home. He was in luck today, however -- smoke drifted gently upwards from the chimney. Caspian knocked gently on the door, suddenly nervous about what he was about to see.

The door opened on its own into a dark room lit only with a few flickering candles. 

“Come in,” said a soft voice.

Caspian ducked his head under the doorframe and entered the room. The light seemed to grow brighter until it was enough to see the witch. Try as he might, Caspian could never recall exactly what she looked like. At times she seemed older than Caspian thought possible, at others younger than Caspian himself; her face shifted like wax and the rest of her was shrouded in a dark cloak.

“What do you seek?” she asked. Her voice, Caspian realised, sounded like someone was walking across dead leaves. 

Caspian explained the situation and Cornelius’s offer of a horse. 

“It is within my power to disguise the horse as a mighty steed. But what will you give me in return?” This time her voice was more like a bird warbling in the trees.

“I have gold,” Caspian said hesitantly, “but not much.” 

The witch laughed. “I have no need of gold. Magic is about emotion. Give me something you love.”

Caspian’s hand flew to the pearl around his neck. Though it was hard to tell, he thought the witch’s eyes followed his hand.

“That will do,” she said.

“Need I give it up?” Caspian asked, clenching the pendant in his fist.

The witch tapped one finger on her chin. “No. Leave it with me until after the tournament: that will be enough. But the disguise I put on the horse will fade at twilight each night.”

Caspian reached up to unclasp the necklace. The leather cord, polished smooth by its years around his neck, slipped easily between his fingers into the outstretched hand of the witch. 

“Thank you,” said the witch. “Is there anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

Caspian hurried home. He could hardly wait the few weeks until the tournament began. He snuck out to the garden shed to gaze upon his father’s set of armour and sword. He cleaned and oiled the armour inside and out. He made sure he had the appropriate padding to wear underneath. He “washed his laundry” much more than required to give himself time to practice the different dueling maneuvers and techniques he knew.

Finally the morning of the tournament dawned beautiful and clear without a cloud in the sky. Miraz and Caspian’s step-cousins got out of bed unusually early and went to a friend’s house to prepare, so Caspian could breathe easy. He took the wrapped armour to Cornelius’s house where his old tutor helped him suit up. The horse was already saddled and ready to go. Ordinarily he was an old grey horse with his mane and tail cut short to keep them free of burrs. Now his coat was a shiny dapple grey, and his mane and tail were elaborately braided. The witch’s disguise even extended to the saddle and bridle, which were embossed with vines and flowers.

Cornelius finished securing Caspian’s armour and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “Good luck, my boy.” 

“Thank you.” Caspian swung up onto the horse and patted its neck. “I will make you proud.”

“I know you will.” Cornelius waved as Caspian rode away.

The road would be clogged with horses, carriages, wagons, and people on foot. Caspian took a shortcut through the forest. It wasn’t always easy going, but he still arrived at a reasonable hour. 

Grandstands had been built on a clearing a short ride from Cair Paravel. They quickly filled up with people waving banners, flags, and ribbons. Hawkers advertised food and trinkets. Most eye-catching of all were all the other fighters. Most wore armour of some sort, from quilted fabric, leather, or mail, all the way to plate metal. Some of the men dressed in quilted fabric came holding ancient swords or well-polished pitchforks. Caspian rode his horse over to the makeshift stables, where a young woman came out to lead his horse into a stall. He thanked her gallantly and she smiled in response.

By the time Caspian found his way through the throng of knights in the main arena, it was time to start. An enormous centaur blew a ram’s horn and welcomed them all to the tournament. They would begin with jousts. Caspian had never jousted, so he opted to sit in the grandstands to watch. Knights clashed together, horses whinnied, lances snapped. In time, the names of knights who advanced to the next round were announced. They would compete the next day. Then it was time for individual fights. 

Caspian hadn’t fought an actual opponent in a number of years. He was very good at the techniques he knew, but he also knew that it was more important to have a good sense of what his opponent would do ahead of time. He looked out at the crowd of other fighters and took a few deep breaths. No matter what happened, he was sure he would make his father proud. 

Caspian walked into the arena to be paired off with another fighter. His opponent was a skinny youth about his own age with ill-fitting armour. When the ram’s horn blew, they took little steps forward and backward as they sized each other up. The other boy made the first move. He was better than Caspian had expected and caught him slightly off guard. Once Caspian regained his footing, he was easily able to beat his opponent. He lunged past the other fighter's defences and tapped his chest plate. It was technically a first blood competition, but his opponent conceded his defeat and laid his sword on the ground.

"A valiant fight," Caspian said, bowing, and his opponent did the same.

Then Caspian had a short break before he fought his next opponent. He went to the side of the arena to watch more of the other fighters. There was such a variety of styles of fighting, armour, and swords, and he amused himself by seeing what he could remember about the style of fighting best suited to each sword. After he'd been standing there for a few minutes, he realised that Edmund and Prince Peter were each out on the field. Prince Peter wore a red sash over one shoulder, likely a token from an admirer, while Edmund fought without a token. Each had the device of a lion on the front of their breastplate. Edmund took off his helmet after his bout and ran a hand through his hair before putting it back on. He looked much the same as before, but his face had narrowed and his freckles had become more prominent. Caspian couldn't look away. 

Eventually it was again Caspian’s turn to duel. This opponent was slight, much shorter than Caspian, which would make it difficult to fight him. He would be able to reach up into Caspian's space while Caspian would have a hard time reaching down into his. Sure enough, this other fighter proved a formidable opponent. Caspian admired the way he moved quickly and very lightly on his feet. He had a good eye for what Caspian would do next. Caspian hung back for a little while, fighting defense, while he studied the mistakes the other fighter made. Eventually he rapped him on the helmet in a strike from above. He didn’t concede, and Caspian narrowly avoided a jab in the armpit. Caspian lunged towards his opponent, aiming for his armpit, but he backed up and parried the jab. Eventually Caspian was able to nick the other fighter’s collarbone when his helmet rode up over the neck of his chestpiece. Caspian bowed to his opponent and strode over to the edge of the arena to get some water.

The final bout was against someone much taller than Caspian. He had the look of a very well-trained knight. Caspian couldn’t help being nervous. The knowledge that he was going up against someone much better than him was energising, however. He knew he would have to fight his absolute best. No matter if he won or lost, though, he had already won two fights and would fight the next day. 

The first fight lasted about ten seconds before Caspian won; the second lasted perhaps twenty. The final one lasted about three before Caspian clapped his hand to the fresh wound in his elbow. He bowed to his opponent before going to have his elbow looked at by medics. It wasn’t a serious wound, and he was soon back outside. The arena was beginning to darken with twilight. Caspian retrieved his horse from the stables and hurried back home. He fed and watered the horse at Cornelius’ house and cleaned his armour inside and out before hiding it in Cornelius’s barn. Then he went back to his father’s house. He pulled out one of his books of Narnian history in order to look busy. 

There came a knock at Caspian’s bedroom door. He got up and opened it, making sure he took the book with him. 

“Reading, are you?” the older brother asked, raising one eyebrow.

“The tournament was excellent,” said the younger brother. “We did our father proud while you sat at home with your book!”

“Yes, it’s a shame I couldn’t go,” Caspian said mildly, faking a yawn. “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow.” He waited until the boys closed the door before collapsing into his bed, fully aware of all the muscles in his body. His practice had paid off, however, and it was mostly a pleasant ache that told Caspian he’d worked hard.

The next day was even more beautiful than the last. Caspian relaxed into his ride over to the palace, even stopping at one point to pick up a beautiful green feather he saw on the ground. He tucked the feather behind his ear and continued to the tournament. There he divided his attention between the jousts and Edmund, who was sitting in the royal box with his parents and siblings. Then it was time to fight. He craned his head around the arena but saw only one set of armour emblazoned with a lion’s head.

Caspian’s first bout was against someone similar to his own size, which was a relief after the fights against someone quite short and someone quite tall. They eased into the back-and-forth dance of fighting, watching each other, taking each other’s measure. The other fighter was nimble-footed and graceful, but his attacks and parries were powerful and decisive. Caspian loved his style, even though it was very hard to counter. Somehow fighting with someone better than him, but not by leaps and bounds, was motivating. It felt like they were dancing together and through their cooperation pushing each other to fight better than they ever had before.

They probably only fought for twenty or thirty seconds, but it felt much longer, and Caspian would have liked to fight beyond first blood. He accepted his loss gracefully and swept a bow towards the other fighter, who bowed in kind. 

The rest of the fights were less invigorating. He was paired up against better opponents than the day before, of course, and ended up winning only one fight. That was it, then, he supposed. He had fought his best and had come through to the second stage of the tournament, but it would end here. He was surprised to hear his name called amongst those who were invited to duel with Prince Edmund himself the next day. All he could hope was that he would not make a fool of himself in front of the prince.

Caspian made his way back to his horse and rode back to his house. The soreness of his muscles after another few fights was less a pleasant reminder of hard work and more just pain. Caspian stocked the wood pile in order to boil water for a hot bath. He was chopping wood when his step-cousins arrived home.

“Looking a bit weak, there,” one of them called across the yard.

“It’s a good thing you couldn’t go to the tournament,” called the other. “You’d only embarrass yourself.”

Caspian merely waved faux-cheerily at them before turning back to the wood pile. All this chopping would just make his bath all the more satisfying -- and it was, once he finally felt the steaming water swirling around his tired muscles. He ate well that night and gently stretched out his limbs in preparation for the following day.

Caspian had expected another beautiful clear day, but he woke up to a torrential downpour. It slowed to a spitting rain by the time he mounted up and rode to the tournament, but the mud remained. His horse had to cautiously pick his way between the puddles, flecking his legs with twinkling stars of mud. The rain picked up again as Caspian handed his horse over to the stable attendants and walked out to the grandstands. They weren’t sheltered from the rain, making him worry about rust. He soon forgot about rust, however, as the fights began. Caspian wasn’t taking part in the final day of individual fights, since he’d lost two of his fights the day before. After the individual fights it would be time to fight Edmund. Caspian went down to look at the list of people who would fight the prince. His name was at the very bottom. It could give Caspian an advantage to go in fresh against an opponent who had already fought several people, but he worried about making it home before twilight. Still, he was very much looking forward to being with Edmund again.

Caspian took a short walk around the arena to stretch his muscles before the fight. When he got back he watched Edmund, in his lion-emblazoned armour, fight the opponent right before Caspian in the order.

Edmund was graceful and moved lightly, but his attacks were clearly powerful. Caspian recognised his fighting style right away. He must have put on a different set of armour yesterday to fight unrecognised. In any case, Caspian was well-prepared for this duel. He rolled his shoulders and neck in little circles as he stood at the edge of the arena. Seconds later, his name was called as the other fighter walked away. Caspian took his place in front of Edmund. The sun was almost down, casting golden light across the field.

The fight was a little easier than the day before. Edmund was tired. His attacks were decisive, but less powerful, and his movements dragged slightly. It didn’t help that the field was muddy from that morning’s rain. Fighting to keep their feet on the slippery ground slowed both of them down. Each of Caspian’s attacks were rebuffed, but Edmund’s blocks were a little slower each time. Caspian brought his sword down towards Edmund, whose parry made their swords ring out. Edmund brought his sword up and around, knocking Caspian’s sword from his hand. 

The sword went spinning away and landed in the mud. Caspian froze. He looked between Edmund, the sword, and the horizon: twilight had arrived. He began to run, leaving his father’s beautiful sword in the mud. In that moment he had no thoughts but that he must get home without revealing his true identity. As he reached the edge of the forest, he hesitated, thinking about the horse and his sword. But he could come back for both later. He made his way deeper into the forest before checking to make sure that he wasn’t being followed. The armour was heavy and made it difficult to move through the underbrush, though it would surely be harder to carry. He took off the helmet, appreciating the fresh air on his sweaty face and hair, before beginning the long trek back to his house. 

Caspian took a break a few minutes later, remembering his sword laying in the mud. He supposed there was no guarantee that someone wouldn’t just take it. He turned to walk back towards the tournament. About five minutes into his walk, he heard movement in the forest ahead. Someone emerged from behind a tree--someone in armour. He had the familiar device of a lion on his chest.

Edmund’s posture straightened when he saw Caspian. He lifted a mud-covered sword into the air. Caspian could barely see the gold inlay on the guard and the base of the blade. He began to lift his helmet in order to place it on his head, but Edmund said,

“Caspian? Is that you?” He dropped the arm carrying Caspian’s sword to his side.

“Edmund?” He’d known it was Edmund, of course. They’d just duelled, but it was different seeing Edmund like this, when he knew who Caspian was. When Edmund clearly remembered that day four years ago. Caspian walked towards Edmund.

“By jove!” Edmund said.

They stood across from each other, neither knowing exactly how to proceed. Before, they had been two boys in a forest. Now they were a prince and his subject. Caspian’s plate armour would make an embrace awkward. Eventually Caspian extended his gauntleted hand, palm up, and Edmund placed his hand in Caspian’s. Caspian sank into a half-bow and kissed the back of Edmund’s hand. 

“It’s good to see you,” Edmund said. He extended the sword. “I believe this is yours.”

“So it is.” Caspian accepted it and set it on the ground. “Would you…?” He extended both hands to Edmund, who gently took off Caspian’s gauntlets. When that was done, Caspian picked up his sword and wiped it off on the grass. He held it up and kissed the blade.

“So you’re a fighter,” Edmund said, taking in Caspian’s armour. “Are you a knight? Why haven’t I heard of you?”

“It’s my father’s armour. He wasn’t a knight either, but he began to train as one.” Caspian ran a hand over the sun emblazoned on his breastplate. “I have had to teach myself these past years.”

Edmund raised his eyebrows. “You fight very well.”

Caspian smiled. “Thank you. I was honoured to be able to duel you.”

“Oh, none of that,” Edmund said. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are.” 

“Then, can I ask why you ran away?”

“Oh.” Caspian laughed. “The truth is that I did not want my step-cousins to know that I came to the tournament. I had a witch disguise my horse to look like a great warhorse, but the magic wears off at twilight… I suppose now they will arrive home before me and realise what I have done.” 

“I shan’t think anyone will leave until I give a speech,” Edmund said. “I imagine they’ll miss me soon. Do you need to go?”

Caspian thought only for a second before saying, “No.” After all, he’d endured his step-cousins’ behaviour for years. 

“Good.” Edmund held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Caspian took Edmund’s hand. He stepped in towards Edmund and stood there for a moment, studying his face. The sunlight had gone, but the moon was up, painting all the world in silver. 

Edmund returned Caspian’s gaze. Caspian hadn’t released his hand, so Edmund lifted their joined hands to his mouth. He kept his eyes on Caspian as he kissed his hand. Caspian shivered.

“I think we should return, Your Majesty,” he said softly. “But I would very much like to spend time with you after the tournament.”

“So would I,” said Edmund. “I’m glad we agree. But, as I said, none of that ‘Your Majesty’ stuff between friends.” He lowered their joined hands, but didn’t let go, and so they walked back through the forest to Cair Paravel.

Caspian rejoined those in the grandstands as he watched Edmund award the winners their prizes and thanked all the attendees in an elegant speech. After, they reconvened and discussed what to do.

“I rather think you should leave that house,” Edmund said, and Caspian agreed. “May I suggest you join us in the palace? I think we could use a fighter like you, especially once the trainers get their hands on you.” 

“That is very generous of you.”

“Not at all.” Edmund smiled. “There aren’t so many noble families in Narnia that we can turn down a good fighter where we can find one. I hoped to find good fighters with the tournament.”

“Thank you,” Caspian said, reaching out to squeeze Edmund’s hand.

They agreed that they would take a carriage back to Caspian’s village along with Cornelius’ horse to retrieve Caspian’s belongings and ensure everything was in order. First they went to Cornelius.

Cornelius, of course, was very happy for Caspian to go to the palace. “What a wonderful opportunity, my boy,” he said, beaming. He accepted his horse and put him safely away in the stable. 

Next they visited the witch. It took longer than Caspian had expected to find her house again; none of the landmarks Caspian remembered from last time led to her cottage, and there were boulders outside Caspian could swear he’d never seen before. She and her cabin were no less mysterious than the first time Caspian visited. The witch returned Caspian’s pearl. 

“You still have that pearl?” Edmund asked.

“Of course I do,” Caspian said. He immediately put it around his neck and tucked it under his shirt, above his heart. He thanked the witch again and they left.

“Did she smell rather like blueberries to you?” Edmund asked.

Caspian laughed. “No, but I think she appears differently to everyone.” He took Edmund’s hand. “We’re not far from my father’s house. Perhaps you should stay in the carriage. I think my cousins would make fools of themselves in front of you.” 

So Edmund retraced their steps to the carriage while Caspian went to pack his bags. He could have left his armour and sword at Cair Paravel, but he decided to let his step-cousins see him in the armour. When he arrived, the younger brother was in the front yard.

“Brother, look, here’s a knight from the tournament! One of the ones who fought Prince Edmund!” he called. He came up to Caspian. “Good eve, sir!”

Caspian reached up to remove his helmet. “Good eve.” He laughed at his cousin’s shock. “I won’t be living here anymore.” 

“Where are you going?” asked the young man.

“Cair Paravel,” said Caspian, walking into the house without waiting for a reply. On the way to his room he encountered the other brother, who looked at him with undisguised jealousy. Caspian packed his things into bags before leaving his father’s house forever. He rejoined the carriage, where Edmund was waiting for him. 

“Ready?” Edmund asked, taking Caspian’s hand.

“Ready,” Caspian replied, and they smiled at each other.

So saying, they trundled off to Cair Paravel and lived happily ever after.


End file.
